Monthly Archives: November 2008

CSJ’s Iron Bowl Vision-‘OH8

Each year before the Iron Bowl, Chris Shelling Jr. has a dream. Last year’s had him stalking JP Wilson on the Tusc. campus and gifting him a pillow. Wilson, surprised, asked the reason. Shelling Jr. replied “so you can bite down on it when Quentin Groves is … ”

New year, new dream. I asked him to send details as soon as possible. They came yesterday.

Not a dream. a vision. I was driving when I noticed two young lovers laying in a pile of leaves. she in orange; he in blue. At this moment, I saw it all. I’ll try to reproduce the vision with failing words:

I am an Auburn man. I have Auburn hands and Auburn feet. Auburn heart. Auburn mind. My Auburn legs propel me to the top of a giant mountain. My Auburn eyes look down and see. One side of the mountain is beauty; the other ugliness. On one side there is a shining “6”; on the other a rusty “12”. On one side there are eagles; on the other there is a dead bear. Astronauts communing with farmers here; lawyers chasing ambulances there. Pat Sullivan is beating cancer; Joe Namath and The Snake are leaving rehab. Tiger walk; Men with toilet paper and detergent boxes on their heads.







And on the border the unwashed masses were building a golden temple to their mercenary leader. Their newest god. More Col. Kurtz than Alexander the Great, he stood before the rabid crowd with his thuggish brigade and his Secret Service (headed by a striped man named Penn Wagers). The trailer parks had emptied, they were all here exalting with chants of “We Rollin”, “Row Tahd”,and even “Rammer Jammer”. It was a spectacle the Auburn people had grown accustomed to, but the Tuscaloosa mouth breather seemed to suffer from some amnesia (maybe it was all the Boone’s their pregnant mothers drank). No one noticed the large eared man with his knife, gun, and missile waiting in the bushes. Not to mention the other seventy or so tigers trained and aimed right at their crimson necks.
It was a bloodbath. The survivors ran back to the dead bear and dreamed of gymnastics season.

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Filed under BEAT BAMA, Pre-game Notes


The first quarter of this game was like pornography that God was cool with. Honestly, it got kinda quiet after a while. We were all just kinda lazing on the beach, or sittin’ on the dock of the bay, I guess. People were pulling out wads of cash and taking bets on whether the next play was going to be a sack. It was luxurious.

Bama was back that year, too.

“You can not play all year, you know, but you can make a big catch in the Iron Bowl and you’re going to be remembered forever in Alabama history and that’s just the way this game is. This is the game that everybody remembers.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself, Mr. Croyle.

My friend Charlie went to Kroger and got eleven paper grocery sacks and the ran back to Toomer’s before people really got there. He and Randy were stringing them across the intersection, but the cops put an end to it.


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The 7 Deadly Fingers of Dr. Tubs

By J.M. Comer

We here at TWER are now set to reveal our top-secret yearlong project: seven fingers, one hand! Think of the convenience. Pre-game, post-game flashes of SEVEN fingers to the stunned Crimson masses, while having a free hand to hold your beer or snap of photo of Tuscaloosa in meltdown.

Seven fingers assumes so much, to be sure, dearest reader. But scientific thinking is a forward progress.

Our earliest sketches consisted of two thumbs:


But our focus group of Auburn fans thought that such a two-thumbed hand might leave one open to the dreaded “you are all thumbs” insult.

Clearly, this would not do.

Science marched on. After minutes and minutes of painstaking research it was decided: 6 fingers and 1 thumb on one single hand. Could it be done?

The surgery and pre-op prep were to be intense. We had to find a test case, someone expendible to humankind.

Tom Arnold (man-beast and Bama fan for a day) would be hard to track, target and sedate. Also, his intense blend of daily “uppers” would probably have proven too problematic for our in-house anesthesiologist.

But eventually, we found our man:


But sadly, the “comedy” of seven fingers proved too much for our test case. TWER scientists (good men, and thorough) looked at the situation and realized that such a human could not safely be released back into the world. How can I say this gently? Mr. Carey will not be involved with the third installment of the Pet Detective series. Or any other movie for that matter. You’re welcome.

Our methods proved sound. It can be done.

In the name of Science!

In the name of Auburn!

The eye of the Eagle sees all!

Exalted Eagle!

War Eagle!


Filed under Diversions / Investigations, General, Iron Bowl 365


I watched it with a pizza in my lap, a song in my heart, and a mic in my hand. Such a given, such an understood formality, it doesn’t even have it’s own, individual YouTubementation.

Well there are these two, but they seem kinda art house (still fun, though).

Toomer’s was wet and wild. Epic, even.

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Monday 7:04 a.m.


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Grimsley prediction for Bama

1975 Plainsman editrix, Pulitzer nominee, biographer of Charles Schulz, Bo Jackson of Auburn journalism does her annual-ish thing on the Iron Bowl:

Hating Alabama is a worthy passion. It is part of my life, like longing for a white Christmas, or taking in stray dogs.

Buy her new book.

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The student section was a nightmare. I went nomad. I made it over to Dad and Zac right before I saw this. I couldn’t feel my legs. I looked to my right and saw Jesus. Everything was so bright.


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